


Possessing Dust

by mae_linda



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Eye Trauma, Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, M/M, Necrophilia, Other, Rating: NC17, Surprise Ending, Triggers, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mae_linda/pseuds/mae_linda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: What would you do to keep the one you love close? </p><p>Please heed the warnings and read the tags before deciding to go ahead and read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possessing Dust

“I despise you” 

The snake head bit into the brandy glass with enough force to shatter it into tiny fragments that glittered in the red-orange light from the fireplace. The fragments rained down on the soft fur in front of the fire and lay there like tears. 

My name is Lucius Malfoy and I am what Lucius sees when he looks in a mirror. However, I am not Lucius himself, just what or how he imagines himself to be, really. You see there is a pointed difference between us. I do not care to be alive and he does not care for death. 

“Choke on that like I choke on you.”

Lucius abhors brandy but Tom loved it so Lucius drank it, like he would have drunk anything Tom gave him. That was in the past but it has made its mark on Lucius. For a while it was alright to be broken but Lucius tried so hard not to be after Tom died. Then Voldemort came and Lucius was gone, instead a poor excuse for a man appeared. 

Lucius is trembling again. He does that whenever he is alone.

“I gave you everything, foolishly laid my heart at your feet and you walked all over it. I believed you, gave you my whole self and you nearly destroyed my family. You did destroy me.”

Lucius also talks to himself when alone. The habit never left him after Azkaban, it kept him sane there I suppose.

Lucius takes the armchair opposite me in front of the fire and stares at his cane but speaks to me.

“He was the one to find me. I was young, so foolish and young and not at all experienced. He was my first and only mistake in love. I never loved after that.”

Lucius broods like this, regretting the past and like a woman crying his lost chances. He should have killed Tom when he was still young, in my opinion. Then again, I wasn’t around then to teach him. Lucius would have made a formidable master but he was broken in too early. 

The cane is rotated between his pale hands, making the fire catch and blaze in the ruby eyes of the snake. It’s a tribute to Tom, the cane, the eyes especially. The one act of daring devotion Tom permitted him, they are the undiluted essence of his master after he had abused Lucius thoroughly. By then Tom would Crucio anyone to call him that, unfortunate really that Lucius used to call him that when he came. Lucius was also the first Marked in quite such a vulnerable position.

Lucius looks up at me and sighs, cups the head of the cane in his fist and leans back. He has aged since Voldemort died, more than before, much more than when Tom died. There was no hope, not without the Mark. Lucius looks at his forearm now and brushes his thumb over the exact place where it should have been but is no more. 

“When it was gone . . . I remember very clearly, green, essence of green and then no colour, only black and white and noise, too much of it.”

Poor Lucius, he still sees the world like that, three colours only. One could say he only sees one as the last two aren’t really colours. It takes away from the cane’s beauty, the red of the gems a darker grey merely. To Lucius anyway, I can see it in all its blood-drop glory. 

The sudden gleam of a simple silver dagger flashes even as the fire cracks hungrily. I stare as Lucius brings the blade close to his neck, presses it gently there and collects a drop from the shallow cut. Balancing the tip over the cane, tiny twin drops touch the rubies there. 

I relax back into my armchair; Lucius will live for a little longer after all. 

“Created with my blood and your essence, let me take you in hand- stroke you again.”

The rubies gleam, and the dagger gently touches their sides before they roll into Lucius’ cupped hands. Like a sentimental fool, he kisses them before rolling them gently in hand. With a sudden sharp movement, they are in the fire, and Lucius is on his feet, already crossing the room, never once looking back.

I see the tortured visage in the flames as it is burned away. I smile.

We cross paths with no one; the elves are no more, destroyed in the War- Narcissa too, by Voldemort’s hand. Draco is in France; perhaps he shall come tomorrow for lunch, and perhaps we shall take it together. Perhaps. 

The halls and staircases are dusty, and cobwebs have spread like an uncontrollable plague. Lucius likes them; they remind him of Azkaban and its relative safety. We are going up, through once gilded portals and barren staircases. The higher we go, the more narrow and more winding the staircase is, like a snail’s home. At the very top there is a heavily warded door decorated with a lily. 

We enter, and I smile at last night’s reminder as it lies on an elegant récamier, boldly naked and pale as moonlight. I remember all too well how Lucius despaired when he’d realized his beloved was dead, and how the cane’s eyes had gleamed maliciously. I remember how he had carried the body and worshiped the still warm flesh, hour after hour until it had gone stiff. Lucius had groaned as if he’d brought the cadaver pleasure and climaxed in and over it. 

Lucius has not slept; he rarely does these days. He does not fear the nightmares; he merely seeks continuity. One dream with one feeling- he has become too sensitive to allow himself to feel more.

Resplendent on the silk of the chaise, limbs curled in a fetal position and covered by the white fur of the snow fox throw, Harry looks small as a child. Lucius bends over him, kissing his cold, open mouth. He kisses the open eyes, still vivid green, and he does it again when they don’t blink. It’s a tender but altogether pointless exercise.

The crack as the joints are forced into relaxation makes me grin- perhaps Lucius wants another go. However this is apparently not the case, because as soon as Harry is on his back, Lucius leans in and with surgical precision removes the green out the black and white background.  
It’s a delicate process, maneuvering the blade, so it doesn’t nick the eyeball or puncture it. Keeping the liquid inside maintains the integrity of the eye even as Lucius gently cuts the muscle at the back. 

After repeating the process with the other eye, Lucius moves to the vanity table and sits down. The sightless cane is leaned against the table, a black length hungry for color. Lucius carefully places the very green eyes on the corner of the vanity before he picks up his wand. 

“Wrongfully taken, be my guide, green as emeralds; by my soul, make my light.”

Lucius loves poetry though he’s not very good at it; he is, however, powerful enough to make magic obey him and the eyes morph, burning brighter until they are literally burning. From the green flames emerge twin emeralds, the right shape and size to fit the cane. Placing them in gently, Lucius kisses them closed as he could not when they were Harry’s. 

Walking back to Harry, Lucius looks at the imperfect picture, the lack of green very obvious. Picking up the lithe body, Lucius carries him to the spacious bathroom, kissing him one last time before gently allowing him to slip into the bath. The acid begins its work immediately, and the picture looks right again. Green engulfs the body as it had when Lucius first held him. It had taken time to colour the acid the right shade of green. 

Lucius is growing hard again; he likes bones, their smooth texture, their fragility and elegance. They are just peeking from the remains of the arms and legs; the mouth is now gone, and there is just a hint of heart left, the liver gone already. When the flesh had melted away, Lucius Banishes the acid. 

“So pure, white as innocence- now I may keep you forever, my love.”

It is a return to innocence though not for Harry. Lucius had desired his own love and his own music for so long- since childhood. Now he would have both. Transferring the bones onto a cashmere shawl, Lucius took them into the music room. After arranging them in a pentagram, Lucius caressed the naked skull before placing it a bit to the side. The spell had been long practiced; it was one all Purebloods used to keep their spouses as objects in their home. 

Casting, Lucius watched as the bones reformed and grew into a gleaming white grand piano before sitting down and playing. The sound was mournful; a deep melancholy reverberated into the room. It sounded the way salty tears tasted, and Lucius kept playing until stars could be seen through the arched windows. Taking a break, Lucius swiped a hand over the shiny wood, and like in a mirror, an image appeared. But unlike a mirror, it showed a youth looking up and crying. 

“I shall return tonight, my pet. Sweet dreams.” 

We did return, and the creaking sounds could be heard from the door. It sounded like old furniture when you breathe too deeply near it. Lucius was drawn like a moth to a flame, slipping under the piano to look at the reflection and its companion. It looked as though he could enter the reflected image, as though he could touch his beloved. He could love and tease his love until they were both writhing. The body under the piano imitated the one reflected on it, and Lucius came on his back before he left his arms fall to the sides. 

The piano creaked once, hard before it collapsed, splattering blood around. All that was left was the cane. I had not foreseen this, nor had I foreseen surviving it. I sat on a chair and looked as Lucius, the one I represented, made an ever bigger stain on the lovely white carpet. Light dawned and still the silence continued. Around eleven, I heard steps on the stairs that didn’t stop until they were right outside the door. 

Draco came in, dressed impeccably, and then froze. I watched as he took in the scene before he finally moved. He crossed the room, crouched low, and tugged. I could feel myself dissipating then; the last thing I saw and heard was Draco holding the cane and whispering, “Come, my pet, come with me.”

 

\--The End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hp_darkfest, under the username monoceros_writ, mostly because I had never written any dark!fic.
> 
> The prompt it is based on is: 
> 
> Good friend, for Jesus sake forbear,  
> To dig the dust enclosed here.  
> Blessed be the man that spares these stones,  
> And cursed be he that moves my bones. -- William Shakespeare's epitaph


End file.
